


Things I May Never See Again

by plinys



Series: ABC Fic Challenge [18]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The subject came up the first time she happened to mention that she had a van somewhere back in a random SHIELD warehouse. In that moment, a foolish idea had been formed, for finding a little bit of peace in their messed up world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things I May Never See Again

**Author's Note:**

> For my ABC fic challenge, the letter is "R" and the word is "Road" cause I'm road trip trash.

They’d been meaning to do this for longer than she could remember.

The subject came up the first time she happened to mention that she had a van somewhere back in a random SHIELD warehouse. In that moment, a foolish idea had been formed, for finding a little bit of peace in their messed up world.

(Skye just had never realized how long it would take to find their moment to get away, and even if she had, this isn’t what she would have imagined at all.)

 Trip had gotten that easy smile on his lips when she brought it up, warm and happy in the midst of what was essentially a war zone, _“One day, girl, we’re going to have to take a road trip_.”

And she had replied with the same wild ease, the joy for a future that seemed to be within her reach. _“You can count on that_.”

From there they’d made plans, sitting in the bunks on the Bus, pressed too close together as they poured over maps.

Trip insisting on stopping at every tourist trap they could manage, before marking all the known SHIELD safe houses on the map with a red sharpie. Insisting that they could save money on hotels by cashing in on one of their very few work perks.

(She squints at those marks now, but no longer finds the words _SHIELD safe house_ to be any sort of reassurance. Her last experience with a safe house had been less than safe.)

The maps had been opened so many times, spread across tables, stained with spilt coffee and worn down by fingers tracing the highway lines. Skye was considered the expert on road trips, despite that her only drive that could really be considered one was the one where she packed everything she could from the orphanage and miscellaneous foster homes into the back of a van she’d won in a bet, before driving to California as fast as she could.

She’d had Miles with her then, but she doesn’t mention that when Trip asked her to regale him with tales of her adventures.

Instead had rolled her eyes, and said, “ _You’re a spy Trip. If anyone’s been on exciting adventures to faraway places, it’s you not me_.”

When he had pressed his lips to hers later that night, right after promising to show her the world, she hadn’t been thinking about faraway places. She was in the happiest place she’d ever found.

(The landscape sprawling out in the front window of the van is dismal and brown. A desert that stretches on endlessly before her, but there are rolling clouds that nearly touch the surface which remind her of white bedsheets she spent many nights between.

She blinks back the tears from her eyes as she signals her lane change.)

Getting the van out of SHIELD storage had been the hardest part, after the traitors had appeared in their midst it had nearly seemed impossible. Even if she could find which facility had been transferred to after she signed on as a consultant, getting in there and getting back out alive might be harder than it looked.

This she found was one of the many downsides of being a wanted fugitive.

But she would never forget the way Trip had insisted _“Nothing is impossible,_ ” in a way that made her believe he was right.

The keys had been pressed into her hand casually, a warm and familiar grin before the words “ _I heard you were looking for these? Keep better track of your keys, girl_.”

There was a new keychain among the rest, one which she would later find out was a tiny tracking devise, in case she ever managed to lose them again.

(“I’ll be right back,” she says, though she gets no answer in reply, before slipping out of the van. There’s a feeling of solid unmoving ground under her feet for the first time in days, and exhaustion in ever line of her body.

A part of her wants to curl up on the stone bench of the rest stop, while another part of her wants to turn around and head back to the SHIELD base that was the only place she ever called home.

She does neither of those things, instead heading into the rest stop’s bathroom, to splash water on her face. When she meets the gaze of her reflection in the mirror, she nearly shies away. There’s dark circles under her eyes that never seem to go away, and her newly hacked off hair makes her look like a stranger in the mirrors chipped glass.)

Trip made them a mixtape for their road trip, months before it even came time to drive away, a _tape_ because that’s just how old school her van was. High tech computers in the back, but a radio system that made CDs seem like a far off science fiction creation.

Of course, Skye had found out along the way just how _real_ those science fiction fantasies of her could be. And she may have even bought an auxiliary cord as a step towards the so called _modern world_.

But it didn’t stop the silly smile from finding its way onto her lips immediately after Trip pressed the tape into her hands and said, _“For our much needed vacation_.”

(“On the road again,” she says, fiddling with the controls on the tape deck until she can crank the sound up, loud enough to drown out her own thoughts. “Just can’t wait...” But the rest of the words fall flat, and she turns to a static filled radio station instead.)

  _“You and me together_ ” Trip had said, the last time they talked about going away, _“What could possibly go wrong_?”

There were a number of things, a list that seems innumerable now. A list that was left unfinished crumbled up in a drawer next to a bed that she’ll never have the chance to sleep in again.

(For when she looks over, at the seat next to her, there’s no Trip sitting there with his easy smile.

Just a jar of broken stones resting against an empty passenger seat.)


End file.
